For the Good of All
by Hamilcar
Summary: Veidt's attempt to save the world creates a wave of mutations and with it a new generation of heroes and villains, some of whom look to the old guard for guidance and some who look forward to a world ripe for a change in power.
1. This Was a Triumph

~*~

_It is several moments after the explosions have gone off and Adrian Veidt is staring at the myriad screens in triumph. As the others look on in horror his arms are open wide._

"I did it!" He screams. "I did it!"

The others heroes look to one another as, slowly, the prospect of what they'll have to do, what they'll have to ignore, in order to preserve this peace dawns on them.

And only one among them remains unwilling.

~*~

_It is two minutes to midnight, and two roommates at Empire State University are arguing. It is the last exchange they will ever have._

"Victor, I really think you should look at those equations again. By my calculations…"

"Doom does not make mistakes!" He slams the door open. "Your concern is unwelcome and unnecessary."

"Fine," Reed snaps. "But don't blame me if… do you hear something?"

In a moment, their world is taken apart. Victor blacks out for only a moment before he rises again amidst the rubble and discovers that the body next to him is still. As he wakes he feels blood on his face and he presses his hand against it, enraged that something might have damaged his visage. Then he sees the body.

"Richards?" He shakes the body. "Richards! Get up you fool! Richards? RICHARDS!" He screams from a vague, confused sense of loss, the feeling that he has forever lost somebody who should have been something to him, even if it was something to hate. His rival is gone and in death there can never be any satisfactory answer to the question of who would have won, of who was the smarter.

He sets his old work aside in that moment. That was something between Richards and him. And now so much has changed. His screams bellow and nausea rises in his belly, overwhelming him. In between blackouts he manages to crawl away from the rubble and the emergency crews find him hours later. He points out the other body to them, hoping they will do something with it. It deserves _something_. Anyone good enough to truly be his rival does. But half of New York is gone and the dead are being left to bury their own. And as he is taken to a makeshift hospital, his pores briefly begin to ooze metal and sweat.

~*~

_It is an hour before the attack and three high school sophomores are spending those last moments before the world goes up in flames together in a penthouse. Inside, masks are waiting to be set loose._

"Okay, important decision here. Super Mario Bros. or Duck Hunt?" Harry holds up two cartridges and looks from the boy sitting in front of him to the girl sitting in front of him. "Thoughts?"

"Mario," Peter answers. "I still can't believe you got one of those. They only came out, what, two weeks ago?"

"Hey, it helps to have a dad with connections. Even if he doesn't do anything else. Kitty? What do you think?"

"Mario," Kitty agrees.

"But I can't stay too long," Peter warns. "I should probably be out taking pictures."

"It's night," Harry protests, fiddling with the NES. "You have to work _now?_"

"Now's the best time to work. It's when stuff happens."

"I wish you wouldn't work for that paper," Kitty sighs. "They're crazy and anti-Semitic. I don't know why a guy as nice as you would work for a paper like that."

"Didn't know you were that observant," says Harry. "Not that I'm saying what they're doing is _right_."

"Observant or not, it still bothers me!" She sits up and grabs a controller. "Wouldn't it bother you? If Peter was working for a paper that hated your people?"

"Probably," he admits.

"I don't agree with what they say but I need the money," Peter frowns. "Especially since Uncle Ben lost his job. You know how hard it is finding a job, especially when you're a kid. No legitimate place will hire me."

"I said I'd help you. I'd be happy to help you. I'd be _thrilled _to help you." He glances over. "What, my money isn't as good as that of a bunch of right-wing racists?"

"We've had this conversation. Let's just drop it. If I can find another job, I will, if not, well, at least I feel like I've earned my paycheck even if the _New Frontiersman_ is not the best place to earn it. Anyway, I only take pictures of legitimate stuff. Not my fault how they twist it. So can we just get back to the game?"

They play and play, frittering away those final minutes with banter and electronic beeps. Finally, when the pizza has run out and the game is getting old, Harry looks at them again.

"Hey, you guys want some music?"

"Put on Safety Dance!" Peter suggests.

"I think you might be the only person in the world who admits to liking that song." Kitty rolls her eyes. "Look in my book bag. I just bought Dancing in the Dark."

"Springsteen it is," says Harry. Peter and Kitty turn to watch him and his fingers barely touch the needle when their world suddenly changes into a burst of light and a thunderous crash.

~*~

_It is two weeks after the explosion has taken apart New York and so many other major cities, two weeks of relative peace and rebuilding. Adrian Veidt still believes he has won. But it is too late; the wheels have been set in motion for Adrian and for the boy beside him._

"I was so glad to hear you weren't there, Adrian." The brunette cuddled up next to him. "Hell, scared me to death. Worst thing I'd ever seen in my life. Couldn't believe I made it out. Musta cried for an hour, though."

"Well I am glad you survived too Bobby," Adrian says with a smile and kisses his temple. Untrue; his death would have saved Adrian trouble. But it is of small concern.

At least in Karnak the boy will have one marvelous evening, as all his lovers do, before they must inevitably go their way down the path of the pharaoh's servants. All so beautiful, Adrian thinks. Beautiful and anonymous and never around long enough to spill his secrets.

"You wanna go another round?" Bobby grins.

"Perhaps in a bit," Adrian chuckles. "I am not as young as you, you know."

"Yeah, but you're twice as gorgeous." Bobby reaches out to brush Adrian's hair and Adrian almost feels a pang at the thought of the poison he will slip into water or wine or soda. Almost.

"Flatterer," Adrian teases and strokes Bobby's spine, just like he likes.

Bobby giggles; then his expression twists. He sits up and clutches at his stomach. "Adrian…" He breathes.

"Something wrong?"

"Adrian, I feel cold." He starts to shiver and begins pulling up the purple blankets. "Adrian, is it cold, why do I feel so cold?" His brown eyes fix onto Adrian's for a moment, have one last moment of soft lucidity before the ice starts to creep upwards.

"Robert!" It is the only word Adrian utters before he springs from the bed and dashes out of the room. Karnak is a fortress and equipped as such. So once outside the door, he presses the security code and locks him inside.

"Adrian!" Bobby screams and looks down at his hands which are turning into ice crystals. "Adrian what's happening to me!" He runs towards the door but slips and slides, spreading ice as he moves. "Adrian!" He pounds against the door, icy splinters shattering off of his limbs as he does.

"I don't know Bobby!" Adrian yells through the wall. "I'll try to solve it, I'll try to help!"

Instead, he runs elsewhere in his fortress, securing each level as he goes. And when he gets to the control room, he floods the bedroom with a toxin. Little matter, he tells himself. It was to be Bobby's fate anyway, so what if it was moved up a few hours or days?

Whatever just happened to Bobby, however, is his concern. He decides to go back and find the corpse, examine it for what caused it to change. But as he goes to leave, he looks at his monitors and sees that the ice has spread. A step into the hall and he hears the echoes of his name being screamed. Whatever he has done, it has not killed Bobby.

And the ice is spreading.

Uncertain about how to proceed for perhaps the first time in his life, Adrian quickly heads to the hanger where he docks his ships, both aerial and ocean-born. He needs to put distance between them. One by one, his disables all of the ships save for the one he will take. And then he escapes, hoping that the Antarctic ice plains will be enough of a wasteland to contain whatever just happened.

It is his first, personal glimpse of unintended consequences.

~*~

A/N: So a crossover like this was coming. Lot of Ultimate influences. And, with the exception of Bobby/Adrian, probably not slashy. I must be getting het in my old age. ;) But I'll try to keep this and all my more recent fics decently updated. Oh, and even though he doesn't really show up this chapter, Dan will be the focus of the Watchmen side of this story. Him and Adrian, but more Dan than Adrian (even though it doesn't seem that way right now).


	2. Huge Success

~*~

_It is five days after the tragedy and the rats begin to crawl out of their holes again. The oldest profession in the world does not cease, not even in the face of Armageddon._

"You better have that money, Blaire!"

"Jesus Frankie, it's not even a week after the attack! Besides, it's freezing outside. You think people are wanderin' the streets looking for a BJ? Most everybody's dead and those who aren't are home. Made next to nothin'." She tosses her blond hair back. "Gotta twenty from some scrawny, balding suit but that's it."

"Twenty ain't good enough, Blaire." The man with the slick-backed hair grabs her arm. "You know that. Now am I gonna have to do somethin' to ya?"

"Leggo." She tugs, but he doesn't release. Instead, his free hand pulls a knife.

"Mebbe I oughta give you a little motivation…"

"LET GO!" She screams above the sounds of the traffic. There is a blinding flash like strobes going off, and Frankie reflexively releases her arm to cover his eyes.

Alison isn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. She runs, despite being on heels, all the way back to her crappy apartment, inhaling and exhaling. Exhausted, she half-collapses into the chair in front of her vanity, knocking off makeup and bottles of spirit gum. That light… where had that light come from? It feels like a lump is forming in her throat. There are rumors, rumors… but they can't be true, can they?

The word on the street, the word she is always hanging around to hear, is that people are starting to change after the attacks. Attacks are happening at night. Manhattan's explosion had created freaks, some people are saying, mutated things crawling out of the sewers to haunt everybody's nightmares, as if the horror of the attack wasn't enough.

Freak. She looks at her hand and focuses. It starts with a glow that soon fades. Then the sound of a car stereo blaring something raucous floats through her window and the glow pops into bright flashes of multicolored light. A gasp of excitement at figuring it out and she gets up, knocking over the chair. Her stereo is one of the few nice things she has in her crappy apartment and it is always standing at the ready with ABBA.

"Summer Night City" and she is able to make the flashes on command. "Honey, Honey" and she can control the color of the flashes. "SOS" and she can fill the room with lights so bright that they could probably blind. "Waterloo" and she can focus the light into a laser point that singes her peeling wallpaper. She finishes with the showstopper, dancing, jiving, and having the time of her life.

"Dancing Queen," she grins to her reflection when she's done with making everything glow.

She remembers the secret, sneaking admiration she had when she was young for the first Silk Specter, a pin-up girl who didn't let people tell her what to do. She took life in her own to well polished hands; she really lived it and soaked up all the attention it had to give while trying to do some good.

Well heaven knows there's still good to be done, Alison thinks. Pimps beat up their pros every night, take advantage of working girls all over the place. Nobody cares about her or any of the others around her. Even after this attack and all the optimism and coming together, they are still trash filling the sewers to all the people above them and nobody cares.

She can change that, she thinks. Maybe make things better for herself in the process, make a little money, get a little attention, shine a little. She laughs and begins to raid her closet. There's no shortage of glitz and sequins, not for walking the street but for her own private enjoyment. Disco's dead her ass. She's going to bring it back all by herself.

Then there's a knocking at her door; before she can open it, the door is kicked in.

"You think I don't know where you live, Blaire, ya bitch?"

"Shut up, Frankie." Her finger points like a gun and white hot heat cuts across Frankie's organs. She shoves him into a trash bag and dumps him into one of the many dumpsters being used to clear the streets of fallen buildings, scrubs out the stains he made, and then sits in front of her vanity and begins to plan out the makeup that will act as her mask. A star on one of her eyes, she thinks, a large blue star, and plenty of glitter and a good strong lip. Eye shadow on the other eye too, something that will compliment the jumpsuit.

She finally has her break and damned if she isn't going to make a name for herself. She's going to sparkle and shine and _dazzle_.

~*~

_It is a week after the attack and three friends find they must stick together if they are to survive. Everything they know has been taken away, everything but each other._

"I woke up two floors down again," Kitty mumbles as she pours cereal out. "Keep having nightmares too, like I'm falling into hell."

"Maybe you're sleepwalking?" Peter sips orange juice. "I wouldn't be surprised, with all we've seen." He sets down the glass, still half-full, and itches a bite on his hand. "Look, I gotta get in to work. Might as well do something with all the free time. I'll catch you guys later."

"Still not talking about it, is he?" Harry asks when he walks into the room a moment later, just in time to hear the door slam.

"I don't think it's set in yet." She sniffs. "I mean, I still can't believe… I mean, there weren't even bodies for me, just a lot of blood and good. And Peter – poor Peter – I mean, to think being alright and then the whole block getting run through by gangs and… and maybe it helps that he had bodies to see but I don't think it has. I think he feels guilty that he wasn't there to defend them." She stirs her cereal but doesn't eat. "What about you?"

"No word from London," he shrugs, finishing off Peter's orange juice. "Not that I expect to hear anything. London got it just as bad as we did and I'm sure he'd have made his presence known by now if he was alive."

"Yeah," she sighs. "This is so crazy. So strange to think… I can't believe it's all gone. School. Most of the people we know. Our parents. If your building wasn't still half standing we wouldn't have anywhere to stay, we'd all be orphaned and out on the street. Staying in an old lab is creepy but it's better than being homeless. And I keep thinking how did we get lucky? Why were we the ones to make it out alive?"

"Not everybody died," Harry says. "When I was at the center getting supplies I thought I saw Liz. She booked, but I'm pretty sure it was her."

"You think we're ever gonna get to go to school again?"

"They're saying they're going to have something open in under a month. They probably don't need much because, well, you know." He falls silent.

"I know." She pushes away from the cereal. "I'm sorry. I hate to waste but I don't have much of an appetite. I'll stick it in the fridge, maybe eat it later."

"No, I get it. My stomach's twitchy all the time too." He belches. "Ugh. Like right now." He winces and doubles over. "Christ, I think I'm gonna puke."

"Harry?" She runs to his side as he collapses on the floor. "Harry, you're burning up!"

"Feels like it… feels like I'm turning inside…"

Then his skin bubbles, changes color and begins to split his clothing apart. Horns burst out from his forehead, he expands in size, pushing Kitty backwards, and his fingers curl into claws. Licks of fire suddenly move along his skin and bright orange eyes turn to the brunette in desperation.

"Kitty!" He screams. "What's happening to me?!"

"Harry!" She backs against the wall. "Harry, calm down. Focus. Focus. Maybe it's not permanent. Think," she gulps, "I don't know, people-y thoughts. I can get Pete, I can… I don't know!"

He staggers to his feet. "What's wrong with me?!"

"_I don't know!"_ She tries to back up further against the wall but falls through it instead.

"Kitty!" He runs around the corner and finds her on the opposite side, staring at the wall like it might eat her. "Kitty, are you alright?"

"Harry, what's happening to us?" She whispers.

"I don't know!" He punches the wall, making it crumble. Then another ripple goes through his body and in a few moments, he's back to being Harry with his clothes hanging off his human body in shreds.

He falls down and she stands over him for a moment before getting her coat and running through the demolished streets after Peter.

~*~

_It is the morning after Christmas and the Hollis' have gone down to California to visit family. New York is thousands of miles away, but it is about to intrude upon their lives._

"Sweetie, come here!" Sally Jupiter motions her daughter into the room and points a manicured nail at the television. "I'm getting a mention on the tube!"

'Sandra' and 'Sam' leave the breakfast nook. "What are you talking about mom?"

"Just look." She nods. "It's that big interview they've been advertising all month and I got a mention! Seems I was an inspiration to somebody. Come on, they're going to play the story again."

"What story?" 'Sam' adjusts his glasses.

"Listen!"

"And here we are with the lovely lady herself who's granted us an interview on the condition of anonymity – not that we'd try to cross her and reveal her identity," the newsman chuckles and brushes back his hair.

The camera jumps to a blond with hair that looks like it's been hair sprayed within an inch of its life. She wears a glittering jumpsuit, but the glitter isn't confined to her clothing; it covers her face, her lips, her eyes. Even her hair sparkles like it's been dusted. "Hi America!" She beams and blows a kiss at the camera.

"So, what's your name?"

She giggles. "Well that would be telling. But all the viewers at home can call me Dazzler. 'Cause that's what I do." She winks and there are bursts of light around her eyes.

"Fantastic! Tell us, what inspired you to start cleaning up the streets?"

"Well I just found out about all that I could do and I thought it was my civic duty to help," she beams harder. "Shine a little light, if you will. The police have so much to worry about. And I really feel for the plight of those taken advantage of by pimps and dealers and slum lords."

"And reasons other than that? Any inspirations?"

"Here it comes!" Sally crows.

"Oh yes!" She puts a hand to her ample chest. "Sally Jupiter, the original Silk Specter! Now _that_ was a woman. Gorgeous, wasn't afraid to kick a little ass – can I say that on television? – and flaunt her curves while she was at it. If you've got it, flaunt it I always say. Heck, flaunt it if you don't," she laughs. "I always wanted to be a lady like her when I was little. And now that I have that chance, how could I pass it up?"

"You mentioned civic duty. I'm sure you know the Keene Act is still on the books. In fact, we're taking a risk just doing this interview. How would you respond to those saying you're causing a problem instead of solving one?"

"You know, even after they got rid of the heroes, things still went to hell. And maybe if there was some competition, things wouldn't have turned out… it's a different world now. The world has changed. And trust me, buddy, you're gonna want heroes like me around to help it."

"Well I'm happy to have you around," he kids. "Folks, that was the Dazzler. Now back to your regularly scheduled programming."

"Laurie?" Dan's mouth feels dry and he can't seem to calm the fluttering in his stomach. "I think we ought to go back to New York. Right now."

~*~

A/N: Most of the major players are on the board now (with the exception of a couple surprises for later) and the plot is picking up. Next time will have lots more Dan, Veidt, Doom, Bobby and the trio. I hope you enjoyed and would much appreciate reviews with any thoughts/criticisms you have to offer.


	3. All the Things We Learned

~*~

_It is a week after the attack and the refuse, the humans too badly scarred and left all alone, are finally, gradually being sorted and shuffled away, humanity hoping to forget._

The orphaned ginger shuffles down the hallway wearing only a shift and humming to herself. She isn't particularly musical, but the sound helps to drown out the voices in her head. Not that that the voices are all bad – they let her know what people really think of her and if she's in danger and let her in on all the best gossip – but sometimes it gets to be too much.

Nobody notices her as she goes along. After that awful night she'd been one more child left without parents, except she'd been babbling to herself and clutching her head like she had a permanent migraine. So they sent her here with the rest of the babbling, twitching refuse, the rescue crew happy to make her not their problem. She doesn't think she minds; the people here are interesting, their thoughts like shimmering oil blotches on water.

Bouncing on the balls of her feet a little, she halts eight doors down. "Left and then right, then twist, push up, a little over, then open." She stares down at the lock. Objects are a little bit easier to get her brain around than people. They don't move as much on the inside. "Hi!" She waves to the man crouched in a corner when she gets in.

"Voices," he mumbles. "Still here."

"Mine are. Yours too?" She sits down next to him.

"Voices. Voices. Want w-wings. Wings and B-Bill. What happened? Cape. Stupid c-cape. _Voices_."

"Mmmmm." She closes her eyes and quietly pokes her mind into his head. The orderlies are always mean to him because he's old and looks so shabby and they hate him because of something to do with a Keene and Minutemen and Pinkos, but she thinks he has the most interesting mind. Very exciting. And sometimes it is star-spangled and warm and she felt like she's touched something beautiful, like a warm, bright, bird flying high above all the wailing and scratching at the walls.

"Want wings," the old man whines.

"Someday," she says and allows herself to drift.

~*~

_It is one, two, three, four, five minutes after Kitty's world turned upside down for a second time. The streets are filled with people but they must be avoided at any cost, in case she would walk right through them._

"Peter?" She bursts through the front door of the ramshackle plaza spot that houses the _New Frontiersman_. Turning, she slams into a table tottering with papers in the cramped little space, solidly, and knocks over a bin filled with letters. "Dang it," she mutters and starts to pick stuff up.

"Kitty?" Peter pokes his head out of the door. "Kitty what are you doing here?"

"Pete!" She looks up, never so glad to see him. "Pete, Harry and I need help. Something… something's just wrong, okay, and I think you'd better come home."

"Sure. Nothing better to do." He starts to neaten. "I just got fired," he adds.

"Fired?" Kitty gasps and lowers her voice. "Why?"

"Didn't have the stomach for snapping pics of human misery after the worst disaster the world's ever seen. Stupid me." He groans. "So what's this about you and Harry?"

"We'll explain later. At home." Finished, she sets the box back up on the counter and is about to leave it when she notices that one of the books has been jammed in partially open. She picks it up, meaning to fold it shut and put it back neatly, when a name, a scrawled sigil catches her eye.

They fired Peter anyway, she thinks vindictively, and pockets the little book, burning with morbid curiosity.

"Is it bad?" Peter whispers as they walk along.

"Yeah, Pete. It's bad."

When they get back, she falls through a wall and Harry changes into something at least eight feet high, orange and on fire. Peter rubs his eyes to be sure he's seeing everything correctly and shakes his head.

"How did this happen?"

"Who knows?" Harry asks. "The explosion? Falling into my dad's lab during it? Some combination of both? I mean, who knows what he kept in there or what effect that blue wave had? And you saw the news the other day. The one with the shots of that twinkly person."

"Dazzler," Kitty adds. "So have you noticed anything weird Pete?"

"No." He shrugs. "Maybe I'm fine?"

Harry glowers. "Lucky."

Two mornings later and Peter wakes up halfway up his wall with silken threads hanging off of every surface. A word his Aunt May would never have approved of slips out of his mouth.

"Welcome to the club," Harry winks.

~*~

_It is 2761 minutes after the explosion and the man lying in the bed has kept his eyes closed for most of them. He listens to the world outside and curses the fact that he will have to look and it will not be the same._

"They didn't think you were going to wake up," the woman next to the bed whispers.

"Susan." Victor's voice is flat and broken. "I didn't think I'd see you here."

"I didn't have anywhere else to go." She pauses. "Everybody is dead you know."

"I know."

"Reed…?" Her voice contains a hopeless question.

"As well." Silence passes between them. "I am sorry. I am aware that you were close."

"Close" she laughs. "Yes. Close." She looks over. "Did he say…"

"We were having an argument. About an experiment." He looks over. "He might have been right." An admission he can only make with Reed safely dead. Things he couldn't say to his face.

"Guess we'll never know, will we?" She says slowly.

"No. Everything was destroyed. Probably not."

She nods. "Johnny died too."

"He was an imbecile," Victor snaps.

"Victor!" She glares but doesn't move.

"It's the truth."

"That doesn't mean I didn't love him." She looks down. "I didn't think I'd find anybody. And you've always been a bit of a jackass and too smart for your own good. But I'm glad you made it out."

"I am as well Susan."

He takes her hand. And she gasps when it turns cold, sheathed in metal.

~*~

_It is over a fortnight since the attack, a day since Bobby, and Ozymandias has returned, badly shaken._

"Mr. Veidt!" The reporters jostle and crowd him on his way into the building. "Have you seen the papers, Mr. Veidt?"

He shakes his head 'no' and it is true. He's been sleeping since Karnak, having nightmares of ice.

"What do you think of the sudden appearance of someone calling herself the Dazzler?"

"Do you think these freaks are going to become common?"

"Should the Keene Act be repealed?"

"Will you be licensing this new wave?"

"Have any of the new ones contacted you for advice?"

"Have you heard about the guy electrocuting people in order to rob them?

"Where do you stand…"

"How do you think…"

"What should we…"

He holds his hands up to stop the questions. He needs silence, needs time to himself, needs to think. He sits alone in his chair and misses Bubastis. Perhaps he will get a new pet. But first he must attend to business.

Adrian Veidt makes a statement later that afternoon that some people have tragically been made ill by Manhattan's attack, and that Veidt Industries will labor nonstop until a cure is developed. In the meanwhile he encourages everybody to remain calm and if they feel they are developing symptoms of the disease to have patience. Stay at home, don't do anything to aggravate the condition, he says. We will be able to fix it soon enough, he reassures the public.

Because he is Adrian Veidt, his words travel fast and far and wide, lightning ready to strike dry brush and kindle it. Cure them, he says, and his words echo across the ocean, in Europe, in the ear of an aging Holocaust survivor.

He sees the threat of history repeating itself, but he won't allow that to happen to his children. And anyway, why should they be cured? They have talents now. It is the others who have become antiquated. They are the ones who ought to pass away, leave the word clean for the new breed.

Without leaving his home in New York, Adrian Veidt kindles a continent. And far to the south, ice arcs outward from another continent, beginning a slow crawl upwards with a single purpose in mind. He has seen beneath the ice; he knows now what Adrian is. And he is coming for him like the slowly, inevitable approach of winter.

~*~

_It is the moment after she sees that heroes are, for better or for worse, coming back, and Sandra Hollis sees Sam change back into Dan and she can think of nothing to say._

"I don't know," she hedges. "Do you think it's safe? We shouldn't get involved in this." Her voice drops as if she's afraid they're already being monitored. "I know we talked about starting up again, but not like this. Not in New York. We promised, not New York. That's his city now and Adrian will know if we get involved."

"How can we _not_ get involved?" He replies. "If New York is where this is happening, shouldn't we go where the problem is? Yeah, sure, _this_ one turned out to be pretty good hearted, or at least it seems that way. But if this is going to affect a lot of people, then we can't depend on that. Somebody is going to turn out really bad and decide to use whatever power they've found themselves with to rob or kill or…"

"And what are we supposed to do against that either?" She crosses her arms. "We aren't super-powered. We aren't Jon. Yes, you had some toys, but those are all in storage or destroyed. And all I ever had was training."

"I can make more if they're broken!" He protests. "And your training means there's all the more reason to start now. Fight and put away any threats before they get experience."

He looks at her, pleading, but her silence tells him all he needs to know. He turns on his heel and walks out. Over on the couch, Sally Jupiter groans.

"Guess this means a few more years before I can say I have grandkids."

"Mother!" Sandra snaps, still irritated by her in spite of everything. "Hell, I need a smoke. Got a light?"

Sally throws her a matchbook from a bowl on the coffee table and Sandra steps out onto the porch. Dan is already gone, though he's left the car. Didn't even bother to pack. She wonders what he thinks he's going to do and she's afraid all over again.

She definitely needs a drink.

~*~

_It is three days after they have all learned what they are, still fearing it, when Kitty remembers the book and her curiosity piques._

"Guys!" Kitty gasps and runs into the room where Peter and Harry have been playing Go Fish for the last three hours.

"Yeah? You want in?" Harry holds up a Jack of Diamonds. "Got any jacks?"

"Go fish."

"No, you have to see this. This is important." She holds out the book. "Look at this."

"It looks like a piece of trash." Harry picks it up and takes a whiff. "Smells like it too."

"It's a journal." She looks over at Peter. "I grabbed it from the _New Frontiersman_."

"You _stole?_" Peter looks shocked.

"Not really. I mean, they fired you with no good cause, right? Anyway, it wasn't theirs exactly. Somebody just sent it to them in the mail. I got a little curious. I can drop it back off if it's nothing."

"Going through the mail is a federal crime," Harry smirks.

"And I'm sure I have to worry about getting in jail when I can shift through walls," she says, rolling her eyes and making the boys shift uneasily. "Look, just open it up, okay?"

Harry flips it open. "Rorschach's journal…" He looks up. "Rorschach? Like, the vigilante?"

"Yeah," she nods. "You have to read the rest."

They crowd around each other, squinting at the script with Harry reading it aloud. When they finish, they are shaking and uncertain, looking at each other for a sign of what to do.

"You think this is real?" Harry whispers.

"It can't be." Peter shakes his head. "_Can't._ Adrian Veidt is a hero! A peacemaker, a vegetarian. He can't have done anything… we know it was Manhattan!"

"Do we?" Harry snaps. "Smartest man alive is probably good at covering things up." He crosses his arms. "I could believe it."

"Jeez, Harry, you have something against him?" Peter wonders.

"The guy brushed against my ass about a year ago when I was at a banquet with my dad. I remember dad grabbing his wrist and they both exchanged this look and nobody said anything else about it. But then on, I knew he was a creep."

"Grabbed your ass?" Now Kitty looks skeptical. "You sure about that?"

"Yes I'm sure!" He glares. "I can count on one hand the number of times my father defended me. I wouldn't forget that, especially not with the look he gave Adrian."

"And I think you're imagining things. But regardless, what do we do about this?" Kitty gestures. "If Adrian is as awful as you and Rorschach think he is."

"I think we should check this out first." Peter flips through the book. "I mean, it could all be a hoax designed to stir up trouble. You did find it at the _New Frontiersman_ after all. The people known for sending in that stuff aren't exactly pictures of sanity."

"Well how do we check something like that? We can't just walk up to the richest man alive and ask him if he killed a few million people."

Peter looks down and thinks. "Alright. I know. He has a lot of details about this Dreiberg guy."

"The Nite Owl?" Kitty asks.

"Yeah. We should be able to figure out where this guy lives – well, lived, at this point, if this diary is correct – so if we search and find some kind of crazy owl lair, we'll know this guy was the real thing. Because nobody else could have known where that stuff was, things like this entrance to the sewers he talks about. But if we look for, say, a week and no owl lair, we dump this thing and forget about it. Agreed?" He looks at his friends.

"Sure," Harry says confident.

"That sounds reasonable." Kitty nods.

"Then let's go." Peter stands up. "If nothing else it will give us a way to kill a few hours."

~*~

A/N: Okay, so I lied. MM/DB implied slash and more new people popping up here and there. As of next chapter, no more italicized time intros since the various plots will be synching up. Characters featured will probably rotate with more info on each and one or two have yet to appear. And remember that sharing reviews is love and I'm always happy to hear any comments/suggestions/requests. ;)


	4. We Do What We Must

~*~

"Ick. This place smells disgusting." Kitty's nose wrinkles.

"It's a sewer. What did you expect?" Harry swings his flashlight around and catches Kitty in the face. "Besides, we shouldn't have too much farther to go."

"Assuming we find anything," Peter's voice comes from above them. "You don't know that we're going to. And I don't think it smells that bad, really."

"Easy for you to say," Kitty grumbles. "You can crawl on ceilings. You're not in danger of stepping into something."

"Come on, there's something ahead." Harry dashes forward and comes to a large space, a cave of brick and mortar. Most of the room is empty, but there are parts scattered about the floor here and there and a massive computer along one side of the wall. "You were saying Pete?" He looks up with a smirk. "The journal was right; this has to be it."

Peter drops to the floor with a thump and looks around before stooping to pick up something out of a corner. "Goggles." He turns them over in his hands. "Good ones too. Sophisticated. So they would be his. Which means the diary is probably true, which means..." When he looks up there are tears in his eyes. "What the journal… about all those people and Veidt… the riots and the death and my aunt and uncle… oh God!" He drops the goggles and falls to his knees.

"Peter!" Harry runs over, Kitty a moment later. "Pete, what's with the waterworks? You knew this was a possibility."

"Nobody has the right to do something like what happened to us!" Peter sniffs. "_Nobody!_ And he probably killed them too, Rorschach and the Nite Owl. Otherwise they would have come back. Otherwise they would be _doing_ something. And now everything is falling to pieces and not only is everybody dead but people are starting to kill each other, the same as before, except now they've got powers too." He gasps. "Somebody should do something." He looks up at his friends through his tears. "This isn't right. Someone needs to do something. _We_ should do something."

"We?" Harry looks from Peter to Kitty before offering Peter a hand up. "Pete, what are you talking about?"

"Like Dazzler." He gulps. "My uncle always said that power and responsibility went hand in hand, that much was expected of those to whom much had been given. Well we've been given something that not everybody has. We've got abilities and we've got that journal – we've got the truth. We can't just let that rest. We need to do something with it."

Harry grins, not with happiness but interest and satisfaction. "I like where you're going with this. You thinking we should take up the costume business ourselves?"

"If people like us don't, who will protect the innocent from others who use their abilities to do evil?"

"And the journal?" Kitty asks, pulling it out of her handbag. "What do we do with this?"

"We need to tell people," Peter says firmly. "They deserve the truth. Adrian Veidt is probably a murderer; at least all the evidence right now suggests he is. And if he is, he needs to be brought to justice."

"Alright. Sounds good. Not right away, though," Harry suggests.

"What? Why wait?"

"Because a lot of people consider Rorschach to be a loony. If three high school kids show up saying they have his journal and that one of the richest, smartest men in the world is guilty of genocide, we're going to be ignored or locked up."

"And what's your suggestion to not be ignored?"

"It's just what you want to do." Harry's grin broadens. "We become heroes. Sure, people turned on them after the Keene Act. But superhuman attacks are starting to happen and people are going to be clamoring for them pretty soon. I mean, Dazzler's getting famous enough, isn't she? So that's what we do. We build on it like Veidt did, plan to beat him at his own game. And then, when everybody is shouting our names and the public sentiment is with us, then we point the finger at Veidt."

"You know," Peter says thoughtfully, beginning to cheer as he fidgets with the goggles, "sometimes you show an amazing presence of mind. Like your dad."

"I don't know about that," Harry shrugs. "What I do know is that this place could definitely be useful to us. We gotta be smart about this, right? So maybe we have a hideout here and a backup one at my place." He goes over to the computer. "You could see if this hulk still works, Pete, and maybe there are a couple other things we could salvage too. Plus, I'll bet we could raid my dad's old R and D department for prototypes of whatever he was working on that didn't get destroyed. You could take us down there, right Kitty?"

"If the damage isn't too bad. I can phase through walls but I don't know the maximum thickness and I'd rather not press my luck in case I get stuck in the middle of something solid and end up killing myself."

"Well then maybe I'll just go big and orange and we can punch our way down." He flops onto the floor. "Come on guys, brainstorming session! What are we going to do for codenames and costumes? I mean, those are pretty essential."

"Man-Spider?" Peter suggests.

"Peter that is the dumbest name I've ever heard and if you weren't my best friend I'd slap you." Harry taps his foot thoughtfully. "How about Spider-Man?"

"That's practically the same thing!"

"But it sounds cooler. What about you Kitty?"

"Silk Specter III? Fits with the phasing through walls. You know, like a ghost."

"And it's got brand name recognition." Harry nods. "I like."

"What about you?" Peter tosses the goggles and bonks Harry in the head. "Who are you going to be?"

"Well if we've got spiders and ghosts, let's go full out Halloween and go for a goblin. I look kinda like a goblin, right?"

"Just the Goblin? That's lamer than Man-Spider."

"Alright, fine. The Orange Goblin."

"That sounds like a Popsicle."

"Hobgoblin!" Kitty claps her hands. "Better, right?"

"Better," Peter concedes.

"Kitty, you're a genius!" Harry grins his approval. "Alright, so we've got names. Any body thought about costumes?"

~*~

"Now you boys wouldn't be doing anything illegal in here, would you?" The main room of a seedy joint named the Hellfire Club goes silent, but not because people have stopped talking. Dazzler's lasers are already swinging around the room with laser-like precision, sending the guts of the men splattering and deftly avoiding the girls who, up until she entered, had been gyrating on poles.

In the center of the room, a tall blond with short, straight locks looks at her and Dazzler feels what she can only describe as a push. She manages to take out the rest of the filth before going around picking up wallets and throwing them to the girls while slipping a little away for herself.

"Cops will be here soon, gals," she promises them, especially the young girls who look scared witless. "Scatter if you need to, stay if you don't." Then she saunters up to the one in the center of the room. "And what was that, missy?" She whispers.

"I know what you are," the girl murmurs back.

"Oh?" She pauses. "And what do you want?"

"Out of here."

"You could have done that yourself, I think," Dazzler smiles.

"And gone to where? With whom?" She pauses. "I like you. Like your style, your spirit. What you do. Have since I first heard about you. And I can be more than useful. I promise."

"I'm betting you were useful here."

"I might have used my… _talents_ to earn a little extra." A blush blooms on her cheeks. "Besides, I'm sure you know that the strip club was only a front for this place."

"I suspected." Dazzler looks at her. "You know?"

"Some. What do you say?"

"I say," Dazzler swings her arm around the scantily clad girl, "that I think we'll make a great team." There are sirens and Dazzler looks away. "I need to go. Can you remember an address?"

"With my mind. Of course. And I'll make sure the police aren't thinking about you."

"Thanks, hon." She starts for the back entrance. "What's your name by the way?"

"Emma." The girl straightens her white bustier.

"Emma. Nice. Real formal and English. I like it." Dazzler flashes her a thumbs up, then makes her escape, thinking that this could be the start of a beautiful friendship.

~*~

"So what do we do now, Victor?"

"First, we tell nobody of this." Victor throws the clothing from his closet onto the narrow bed where Sue is sitting. "Veidt considers all of this a disease; others are beginning to follow suit."

"You're not worried that it might be?"

"I'm not worried about anything that gives me power like this. I am worried about sentiment turning dangerously against us." He pulls out a suitcase and begins to fill it. "From here, might I suggest that we go to Europe? I have the money for myself and for you." He pauses to look at her. "Should you not wish to be alone."

"Europe?" Sue twists her hair. "Isn't that where that group of radicals is? The Brotherhood, or whatever they're calling themselves?"

"Precisely." He folds his garments into neat squares, placing each carefully into the case. "We could have power in there, Susan. Stay here and I fear that all signs portend we might be hunted. In order to 'cure' us. And I have a background, resources in Europe." He chuckles. "You know, enough people might be dead that I might actually have a claim to a throne?"

Susan blushes. "You aren't serious Victor."

"I would not say so if it was not true."

She hesitates, bites a nail and leans against the wall. But she nods. "Alright, Victor. I'll go with you." She holds out a hand and his suitcase is suddenly encased in a bubble he cannot see. "But you have to promise me that you'll make it worth my while."

The shirt he holds falls to the floor. "I will do so, abundantly, dear Susan."

She laughs as he turns to her and makes herself vanish, goading him with glimpses into chasing her about the room. The entire campus is, like the rest of New York, burnt out and still reeking of death many days later, but she surprising finds enough, every now and then, to be cheerful about. The world still has enough brightness to encourage her to go on.

~*~

"How do I look?" Kitty holds out her arms after she ties her bandanna in the back, around her ponytail. She does a twirl and her tunic flaps around her black leggings.

"Like the Dread Pirate Roberts from that book of yours. And are you sure it should be Silk Specter and not the Poly-Cotton Blend Specter?" Harry smirks and tugs at her sleeve, making her swat him away.

"At least I'm not the one wearing a gross old pair of sweatpants and an undershirt!"

"I couldn't find anything else that didn't tear to pieces when I change!" Harry retorts, defensively.

"Maybe I think was a bad idea," Peter groans and pulls on gloves that leave just enough space between his coat's cuffs to let his webs squirt out. "We all look like idiots, I'm probably going to slam myself into the side of a building, and anyway, how are we even going to find crime? Just walk around until we run into some?"

"Shouldn't be too hard." Harry shrugs on a winter coat. "And remember, the first few times out will be a learning experience. Right? We've been working out, sure, but there's nothing like actual experience. Can't get better until we try. You ready for this?"

"Ready," Kitty nods.

"I'm good," says Peter, pulling down a ski mask.

"Well then, let's split up. And the moment anybody hears anything, we all come running, right?" He claps. "Come on then, let's do this! On three. One, two, three, GO!"

They burst into the night and find absolutely nothing, heading back to Harry's building cold and frustrated. The second night is better; there's a gang trying to rob a restaurant. Peter gets the drop on them and webs three of them up, Kitty leaves one halfway through a glass pane and Harry snaps a neck and crushes a skull before the rest are so terrified that they scatter. The excitement overcomes the nausea and they return feeling more elated than disgusted.

Another night and it's another gang. Another and it's a pair of rapists. Their first superhuman comes after that, a man who tries to electrocute them while robbing a convenience store and ends up in traction. Their actions become coordinated, their motions more sure. And from dark alleys to school classrooms, whispers grow.

Harry uses a dummy corporation to copyright the names the night they drop them to a paper, and they all clip out the headline the next morning that calls them the Hallows, looking at it each time they reach into the fridge for the milk or a Mountain Dew. They walk around high-fiving each other whenever they can and training in between Star Wars marathons.

~*~

Dan comes back to Sally's after a very long walk in the middle of the night and takes his clothing, not wanting to wake Laurie. This will be hard enough, he suspects, and he hopes to involve her as little as possible now that he knows her feelings towards the situation. He throws his clothes messily into the valise he brought and goes out to the waiting cab at the curb.

From there he takes the bus; it's a long ride, but there's less surveillance and he wants to be alone with his thoughts for a while anyway. During one of the stops along the way he picks up a paper and sees an Associated Press article about a group called the Hallows. There's a picture too, of a crouched figure who looks like he's taking his costume cues from Rorschach, minus the fedora, a girl – presumably, at least, it's hard to tell with her dark, billowing top – whose taking her nominal cues from Laurie and her fashion from pirates, and a huge orange something that looks like it's burning. The picture is blurry, but it still strikes a chord of terror.

Hell and damnation, he thinks. It bothers him the rest of the way, the increasing reports that he can do nothing but read about. His thoughts drift between agitated sleep and frustrated waking until at last the turning wheels carry him once more to New York.

The first thing, he thinks, is to find his old place. He doesn't know what state it might be in or if the police have staked it out, but if nothing else it is a place to start. Dragging his suitcase behind him and intent on the task before him, he doesn't notice the thugs – much like the ones who killed Hollis – boxing him in. Too late does he straighten up, his training finally kicking in only as he's outnumbered and surrounded. They back him into a wall and he remembers being caught like this in an alley with Laurie; but now he is alone and afraid that his luck won't hold.

"Whatcha got in the suitcase mister?" One of them growls.

Then, quick as light, there is a thwpping noise and the thug is yanked off his feet and into the side of the building.

"Party's over folks!" A voice from above calls out. "Kids like you shouldn't be out this late!"

"That's right." There's a tremendous thud and Daniel does a double take at the monster in front of him. "Past time for all good kids to be in bed," it grunts as it breaks the arm of a thug who tries to knife him.

"This way," a voice whispers in Daniel's ear and he feels a small pair of hands pulling him backwards. "You'll be safe in here," the masked figure tells him as he somehow finds himself inside the building he was just pressed up against. The figure moves through the wall to the outside and Daniel straightens his glasses and looks for a door.

By the time he makes it outside, the fight is already over and the thugs are spread out on the ground. Dan stumbles out of the door onto the stoop just in time to see the coated boy swing away with the girl while the orange thing jumps from roof to roof. Trying to catch his breath and process what he's just seen, Daniel grabs his suitcase and runs the rest of the way to his old building.

When he gets there, his nerves are immediately set on edge again. Everything is broken, probably due to the police, but at least it is still standing. What worries him, however, are the voices drifting up from the door he's always kept locked.

"…did you see? BAM!" A voice laughs. "He won't be getting up from that!"

"I wish you weren't so rough," another male voice complains.

"They deserved it; they would have killed that guy. Anyway, I though he was going to have a heart attack when you got him out of the way Kitty."

"Well you'd be shocked to," a lighter voice laughs. "But really, good job! We're going to be famous if… did you hear something?"

Daniel pauses on the steps, wishing he had something – a gun, a pipe, anything – but it's too late now. He wonders if his luck will hold twice in one night."

He flicks on the light at the top of the steps and looks down to see a trio of teenagers staring up at him.

"Shit," the curly haired one spits. "You followed us didn't you?"

~*~

Cliffhanger! And if you want to visualize Peter's outfit, think Spider-Man Noir (google it – it's awesome!) More with others next time, including Bobby and Adrian, but from now the story is going to shift to two main groups, Dazzler et al. and the trio plus Daniel. And thanks to kxxd for the review; it helpful and inspiring to know there's at least a few of you out there who are enjoying this – feedback really does keep me going.


	5. Not Even Angry

~*~

Adrian is not at all sure about the decision he's making, but the Dazzler is getting noisy and he's nervous. He can't portray the changes as a disease if someone like her is popular with the public; they won't see it as the sickness that it is, they'll see it as a public service. She needs to be dealt with, quickly and finally. And for that he needs the best.

But now he's not really sure if the 'best' is the best anymore. He wasn't even sure he could use the man; the last he'd heard, he was dying. Now he's apparently better but the word is he's unbalanced. Adrian suspects he's been infected (if that's even the right term) as well; but unlike Dazzler, as a mercenary, he won't be obvious or obnoxious about it. He can always been hidden, be obscured, be controlled if only by a wallet. It's the public ones who stand to complicate his plan.

There a nervous knock and his door and Adrian quits pacing at the window to let the person in. A short, spectacled man stands there sweating and Adrian wonders how he ended up as the envoy.

"Uh, I was sent… I mean, I came here… Mr. Wilson sent me here," he manages to say.

"Right. About his services." Adrian ushers the man in and lowers his voice. "How much is Mr. Wilson asking… um, what is your name?" He normally wouldn't ask for the name of an underling, but the man looks like he's about to have kittens and he's hoping that small talk will relax him.

"N-name? Uh, well, Robert. I guess." He gulps. "But most people call me Bob."

"Bob. Right. Bob. So, what is the asking price?"

"Mr. Wilson says he'll need at least five times as much. Maybe more. If things go wrong."

"A little excessive don't you think?" Adrian raises an eyebrow.

"He says that he's heard of what she can do and that he won't take any less."

Adrian knows he should haggle; but he's anxious and his resources are almost limitless anyway. He nods his agreement. "It will be waiting for him when he can bring me definite proof."

"And the upfront?" He looks like he's about to pass out.

"In my desk." He takes out a small bag. "Diamonds. I presume he'll be able to deal in these?" He hates to pay in money; he'll do it when he must but it feels cheap and tawdry and jewels are more portable anyway.

"That's fine!" The man snatches the bag. "I guess I should leave now?" He whispers.

"Yes," Adrian sighs. "Leave. And please try to be discrete?"

"Of c-course," the man stutters, pocketing the jewels and backing out of the glass-walled room as quickly as he can.

Adrian returns to his window and sighs. With all the traffic coming in and out, the man will never be noticed. But he had thought he was past dealing with such filth. He knows keeping his hands as clean as possible is a necessity and that Dazzler leans just far enough towards Dr. Manhattan to make professional help needed as well. It does not make him feel any better about the entire circumstance. That, plus the fact that he might need to use the man's services to deal with Bobby, if Bobby is still… but he cannot think about that.

Instead he considers Manhattan. Another name he'd hope to put behind him and thought was gone, in both the sense of the land and the man. Now he's not sure he can solve this problem without Manhattans help. He assisted in bringing about the utopia; shouldn't he have some responsibility to defend it? Adrian has a device, made and given to him by Manhattan, for the express purpose of contacting him if anything went wrong.

He is loathe to use it, to admit that he cannot solve his own problems and to drag such a powerful element back to earth now that he has no plan for him. But there is a greater chance of failure without him than with him. Adrian opens the locked drawer on his desk and sends a short message across the long, empty lightyears.

_Please return. Help needed. _

He does not know if Manhattan will hear the message or, if he does, whether or not he will choose to return. But if he cannot find a cure for whatever is causing the changes, he worries that all of his calculations, even revised, will not be able to take this into account and Jon may be the only option.

~*~

"Now Harry, let's not overreact." The second boy tugs at him from the base of the stairs. "We don't know why he's…"

"What are you doing here?!" Harry demands, defiantly shaking free of his friend and stepping up towards Daniel.

Daniel looks down, confused. He didn't think anybody would have had the nerve to break into his place, much less use it. He was, after all, a criminal, at least according to the police. Nobody should be here, not with all the other problems in the world to worry about. The children are unexpected and, given the other events of the night, nerve-wracking. But he finds his voice somehow as the boy moves towards him. "What are you kids doing in my house?"

"_Your_ house?" This incenses the curly haired boy, Harry, even further; he stomps up the stairs and slaps Dan soundly across the face. "How _dare_ you lie like that?! Do you know whose house this was?"

"Harry!" The other two yell at him in unison and pull him away from Daniel.

Daniel shakes the stars out of his eyes and feels a twist in his gut. What did they mean, whose house? Perhaps they were only referring to what was in the papers, whatever little they published. Perhaps that is all they know. Revealing himself could be risky; but how else could he assert any authority? "It is my house." He looks at them guardedly. "What are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting," Harry grunts as he struggles, "that you're a lying sack of crap who's trying to steal and spit on the memory of a good and decent man who died."

"Not everybody died in the blast," he says. "I could have survived."

"He didn't die here," Harry snarls. "He died a long way away, probably killed by a blond douchebag who _is going to get his_. And so are you if you don't get out of here and forget about all this."

The pieces are falling into place and Dan's beginning to feel the chill of Karnak creeping up on him. "What do you know?" He whispers.

"More than you, asshole."

"I know what place this was. I know who lived here. I know all the entrances and exits, all the features. I was… this was my place."

Harry looks him up and down, and then shakes his head. "I don't believe it. You're fat and out of shape and blond."

"Harry, he did say his partner gained weight after retiring," the other boy murmurs.

"I dyed my hair…" Daniel trails off and looks at the teens, concern building. "Tell me what you know!" He tries to show authority, to demand, but the boy, still being held back, refuses to be intimidated.

"You can't be the person who lived here. If you were, you would be dead."

"Maybe I escaped."

"Then where's your partner?! If he were alive, he'd be acting! Why aren't you _doing _anything?!"

"He died!" Daniel screams. "He had to, he was… nothing could have been done! He died…"

"And you didn't?" Harry's tone makes Daniel feel colder still.

"I…I… I was the Nite Owl," he finally voices. There are too many details; they know, more than they should, more than was even in the papers… nobody knew about Karnak. Nobody but Rorschach. Rorschach and his…

"I still don't believe it."

"You have the diary, don't you?" He whispers. "How did you get it?"

"None of your business," Harry snaps. "Answer me. What happened? Was it really Veidt? Why aren't you saying anything?"

"It's not that simple. Look, you need to give me that book, you need to…"

"You let him die," Harry interrupts, finally shrugging off his friends. "That's what happened, isn't it? That's why you're here and he's not and nobody's coming forward. He thought you still had some honor even after you retired, but you don't, do you?" Daniel recoils at the words like a slap, so Harry presses onwards. "You fat lout, you're covering. You're covering for the crime and you… you make me _sick_. Get out of here! Your presence is desecrating the place."

"It was mine, it was…"

"It was a hero's! And you're not that man, anymore," Harry sneers. "Obviously."

"Matters aren't that black and white," Daniel feebly insists, ignoring the voice in his head telling him that to Rorschach they were. "And if you have that diary, I need it back. Or else…"

"What, so you can destroy it? Rip it apart or burn it so the last shred of evidence against Veidt is gone? I don't think so," Harry shakes his head.

Dan takes another step down. "I will take it from you by force if I must. Whether or not you believe me, I still have my training and my experience."

Harry laughs at this. "When you couldn't even take down those muggers? When you needed us to come in and save your worthless ass? I can turn into something nine foot tall you dumb sack of crap. I'll break your neck before you land a punch."

"Harry, back off before you hurt somebody." The other boy steps up and looks at Dan. "I'm not going to hurt you. But you really can't take that book. You just _can't_. It's the only proof we have and it isn't right to let a crime like that go unpunished. " He holds out his wrists and long lines of sticky webbing adhere to Dan, covering his mouth and hands. He struggles briefly, but before he can even get his bearings and process the reality that these kids are the ones from the paper, the ones he met in the street, he's already tied up and hanging from a rafter.

"Well now what do we do with him?" The girl looks up. "We can't kill him."

"Says you, Kitty," Harry sniffs. "He's had weeks now. If he made it back, he should have done something about Veidt. If he's not that makes him the enemy too."

"Maybe he's waiting! Like us," the other suggests.

"Sure, Pete. That's why he kept making excuses for being alive and why he asked for the book." He stands up and crosses his arms. "I don't trust him."

"Well killing him now would be murder!" Peter retorts, angrily.

"Maybe we toss him in the east river. Gives him a chance, right?"

"Harry!" Kitty chastises.

"Fine!" He throws his hands up. "We'll leave him for now and try to come up with something. But one of us is here at all times watching him, alright?"

Peter nods. "Agreed."

"I'm good with it if you guys are. But how are we going to work this out between patrolling and sleeping and everything?"

"We can make a schedule." He walks up to Dan and pokes him in the chest, though he can barely feel it through the webbing. "Consider yourself lucky you're alive."

Daniel can only nod; and he thinks that he should be feeling relief or anger. But mostly what churns inside is shame.

~*~

The way back is long and the going is slow, but when he's in his ice form Bobby does not feel hunger or fatigue the way he would if he were made of meat. As he gets nearer and nearer to the equator, he needs to concentrate more to make sure that he stays cold and that the ice bridging his way does not melt beneath him. Once or twice he considers stopping, but that would mean finding a place to stay and something to eat, something he doubts he can do though he's stayed reasonably near the shore, only staying far enough out to hopefully avoid attracting attention.

And stopping would slow him down, something he definitely wants to avoid. Faces buried under ice rise up at him, as if he were sleeping and having a nightmare, and he tries to hurry faster, to sate the betrayal he feels with blood. His change, Adrian's true nature, his situation is enough to almost overwhelm him, but thoughts of vengeance keep him focused.

"You can do this Bobby," he mutters to himself. "You have to."

But even with his anger spurring him on, he grows weary of remaining icy and cold, and only hopes that it won't be long before he can return to his original form.

~*~

"Do you really believe he'll do it?" The girl leans out of the window and looks up at the stars above.

"Do what?" A boy joins her at the casement.

"Everything he's promising to those gathering around him. Creating a place for us in this new world? Even carving out a new world of his own?"

"I think he can start it." The boy reaches for her hair and gently plays with the waves, making her blush. "But you'll finish it Wanda. I've seen what you can do. He can move metal but you can move the world." His hands start to trail up and down her arms and he pulls her away from the window and closer to him. "That's what I believe."

She laughs and then their lips meet; then she pulls him into the darkness, so that the moon won't shine on their indiscretion.

~*~

A/N: Oh noes! Dan is all tied up now. How _will_ he get out of this one? And SW/Q twincest is canon to Ultimate-verse. So that's where that's from. Other than that, not much to say except that the cast will be gradually expanding and things will start to pick up even more from here on out.


	6. Releasing on Time

~*~

Only when Jean's work is nearly over do the orderlies notice that Mr. Lewis has been quieter than usual, not thrashing as much when they attempt to medicate him or waking up the on-duty nurse in the middle of the night with his nightmares about blood and smoke. The man sits and looks at the wall, like he's looking at something beyond them. But as long as he's not causing trouble, they're happy.

The sounds inside of Jean's head have gotten quieter as well. At first it was like a wave of water that she could not help washing over her, as vast and terrifying as the ocean. Now the waves have subsided, have been brought under her control. She can choose which to look at, decide whether to cast a wide or a narrow net. She knows they are both almost ready.

On a cold but sunny Tuesday morning, she goes to see Mr. Lewis like she always has, working on cleaning him up and getting his thoughts in order. Today it's the last of the addiction, making sure his brain does not fool him into thinking he needs alcohol any longer. A little reassurance, a little realization, and then he looks at her like he's seeing her for the first time.

That's when she knows it's time to leave.

The restraints on him untie themselves and the locked doors in front of them swing open at her behest. Orderlies who move towards them then find something else to distract them. They pass through the sea of wailing, frustrated humanity like Moses and the Israelites, everything parting for them and making it all too easy. The last two glass doors swing open and they're on the slushy streets in nothing but their shifts.

On the outside, a girl running a boutique decides to give Byron a shirt and slacks and passes Jean a dress. Then they call a cab driver who, out of the goodness of his heart, agrees to drive them the long way to Connecticut and Byron's old home, still technically in his name and waiting for him, a manse long overgrown with ivy, eaves dripping with icicles. They are small thefts yet Jean is not entirely happy with them; but they are just this once and will be repaid soon, the moment Byron gets access to his fortune again.

He stays quiet through their trip, steps out of the cab and looks at his house then back at her. "You fixed me," he murmurs.

"You were worth saving," she says. "I could feel it."

"Everybody is worth saving." Only hours after his fog has been shaken, but his impulses have already returned. "At least most people," he murmurs, thinking of a group of robbers and ragged red holes in Dollar Bill's chest. "You can get us inside?"

"Yes," she nods. "You don't mind?" She looks up at him, a little worried. "I don't have anywhere else to stay."

"Of course not." He pats her on the shoulder in what (he thinks, not having had many examples) is a fatherly manner.

"Something else too," she asks nervously. "There are more. Like me. They're out there, on the edges, I can feel them. Would you be willing…"

"I wouldn't turn away children. They must be scared. I wouldn't want them out on the streets. Besides," he gestures, "this is a big place, way too big for me alone. It might as well go to good use."

Jean closes her eyes and pulses out a call.

~*~

"Harry, I don't think we can keep him here." Peter leans against the work table and looks at Dan nervously.

"Well what do you want me to do?" Harry tosses the pizza down and lifts up the lid to grab a slice. "We already know what he plans to do if he gets free from that. We won't be safe. We won't be able to do our work. We won't be able to go through with our plan."

"What if he has to go to the bathroom?" Kitty wrinkles her nose. "I don't want to clean that up. Are you going to?"

Harry stops mid-chew. "Didn't think of that," he says with his mouth full.

"Besides, we can't starve him. That's worse than killing him outright!" Peter frets.

"Alright, alright. Lemme think." He passes the pizza to the other two who grab their own slices. "Maybe we could lock him up or something? Break a few bones so he can't get out? Chop his leg off or something?"

Dan's eyes widen. "Mmmmph!"

"Shut up." Harry strolls over and smacks him. "You were the one who got yourself into this mess."

"I don't know if that's fair to say, Harry," Peter hedges. "And we are _not_ cutting anybody's legs off or breaking any bones. We're supposed to be the good guys."

"We _are_ the good guys. Keeping him from running to Veidt and squealing like the piggy I'm sure he is makes us good guys. And not fair? You think he's innocent in all this?" Harry shakes his head. "I might not know the details, but I'd be willing to bet he betrayed a friend. There's got to be a reason Rorschach didn't come back and he did. And anybody who would betray his best friend is scum in my book."

"Scum or not, we still can't kill him. This isn't like the heat of battle. And we're not executioners."

"So what do we want to do?" Kitty asks. "We can't kill him and we can't let him go and I'm with Peter on not wanting to maim him either."

"Maybe if we ask really nicely he'll stay put?"

"Fat chance of that," Harry scoffs.

"Maybe we ask and remind him that we could track him back down if he does try to run?"

Harry sizes up Dan, looks reluctant but finally nods. "Alright. We get him down, take him to the house. But no coming down here. Too easy for him to escape through the tunnel. And somebody stays at the house and keeps an eye on him at all times. He doesn't get a key and he doesn't go out until we decide that he can. Got it?"

"I can live with that," Peter concedes.

"Me too," Kitty agrees.

"Fine, then. Most of the webbing will have to dissolve but I can yank him down at least." Harry took off his shirt and pants, and then changed. "Better now?" He growls in a self-amused tone.

Daniel glares at him from the steps before Harry hoists him up and pushes him towards the door.

"Easy, Harry! Geez." Kitty scolds. "Pete, grab the pizza would you?"

"Sure. Are we going to save some for him for when the webbing comes off?"

"If we have to," Harry, already fully human again, sighs. "Sure you don't want to keep him on water and bread? I had to go through hell to get this pizza. Everything's gone up in price since the disaster, I practically had to dip into my trust fund to pay for this. I don't see why we have to share."

"Stop that Harry." Kitty walks through them both into the kitchen. "We can use your dishes, right?"

"Don't ask him for permission! We didn't need permission before!" Harry grouses as he grabs a six pack out of the fridge.

"Well he's here _now_, so it feels weird to use his dishes without asking," she says, opening up the cupboard. "Can we?"

Still trussed up and forced into a chair, Dan nods. There isn't a whole lot else he can do. Besides, two out of three of them seem nice enough and he supposes that he shouldn't begrudge plates to survivors of an accident that, though he didn't cause, he's at least trying to cover.

~*~

There's a knock at Dazzler's new door, the entrance to a much cleaner place than what she'd had prior to the disaster, and when she opens it, it reveals a girl in a dirty parka and dirtier jeans with a duffle bag slung over her shoulder.

"Good to see you. Come on in, hon." The taller blond ushers the shorter one in and sits her down. "You know, I was beginning to worry you weren't going to come."

"I wanted to wait a little. Put some time between the bust and coming here, in case anybody was trying to make connections." She crosses her legs. "I can read and I can affect stuff if I'm up close and only have a few targets, but I'm not so good at influencing thoughts for large groups or over long distances. Yet."

Alison nods. "I take it you're just a telepath? Nothing else?"

"Not that I know of," she shrugs. "This is all new to me."

"New to me too sweetie. Need anything to drink? And what's in the bag?"

"I'm good. And I brought my old outfits with me. I figured they might be useful."

"Don't know how comfy you'll be in weather like this, in getups like those." She smirks. "Gotta take care of the goods, girl. Make sure they don't get frostbitten you know."

This brings a small smile to Emma's face as well. "Well my last name is Frost, so maybe that's appropriate."

"Frost? Lovely. Emma Frost. I like that. I'm Alison Blaire by the way. At least here in New York I am, when I'm not going by Dazzler."

Emma nods. "So should I pick a code name too? Since it seems a little careless not to."

"Of course! That's half the fun. Anything you were thinking about?"

"Well, when I worked at the club I was dressing mostly in white. Going for a real pale look, with the blond hair and blue eyes and whatnot. That's why I was thinking Ice Queen."

"Hmmm. Let me see." She motions for the bag and opens it up, looking at boots and corsets and fishnets and garter belts. "Well, it isn't bad but I think you're going to need something a little more substantial than lingerie. Not that I think it's a bad look on you. As for Ice Queen, a little misleading and too close to your Frost name." Zipping up the bag, she hands it back. "What do you think of White Queen? Similar, you've already got the uniform for it and it has a nice intellectual bent, with chess and all."

"White Queen." She nods again. "Yeah. I like it. Wasn't married to the first one, really, and this is good."

"Great!" Dazzler claps. "So I'm guessing that since you were working as a dancer, you're probably pretty flexible. I'm guessing that physical strength won't be too much of a problem. But I've got a little workout schedule going if you'd care to take part. More important, though, is going to be getting your powers up to speed. Have you found any methods of training you like?"

"Only what I did at the club." She grinds the carpet with her foot. "You know, I'm a little surprised you haven't asked the obvious thing yet."

"What's that?"

"If I'm going to read your mind or have been. Or if I'm influencing you or something like that. Maybe even a narc for the cops, since the Keene Act is still in place."

Dazzler shrugs. "Maybe you are. But I trust you. I mean, you have to trust somebody. And if you can read my thoughts, you'd know I'm not hiding anything. Well, not anything important."

Emma smiles again. "I do like to people watch. See if I can pick up on what they're thinking, get them to walk one way or another, but not much more than that. Sometimes I think they can tell if I push too hard or get too nosy. I'd get the guys who saw me dance to pay a little more than they normally would, but most of them were already good and drunk, and what do you expect walking into a place like that? They were easy targets, though; lowered inhibitions and none too bright to begin with."

"Alright. Well, why don't you follow me into a few scrapes as backup, see what you can get people to do? I could even subdue criminals for you to practice on without too much risk."

"I could agree to that. When do you start?"

"Soon." Dazzler stands. "But first, if you don't mind, I was planning a little road trip. A pilgrimage if you will, to see someone important to me. Care to come along?"

~*~

"Sweetie, you need to stop pacing around here and _do_ something," Sally chides her daughter. "You've been here for days worrying yourself instead of doing something. You have the car and know where we was planning to go. Drive after him. Go fast and you'll make it in time to kiss him at midnight and ring in '86."

"He's taking a risk, mother," she sighs. "And it's a risk I'm not sure I'm ready to take."

"What? You think Adrian is going to do something?" She looks sourly at the picture she has of the Minutemen, straight at Eddie. "If he wants to do something badly enough, he'll get it done, no matter where you are. You said you didn't want to stay long here, anyway. This gives him an address as much as anywhere in New York does."

"I'm sorry mom. You're right." Sandra stands. "I'll go out for a drive at least, to calm my nerves and give me time to think."

"Sure," Sally sighs, and switches on the TV as her daughter leaves.

Once on the road, Sandra presses the car as fast as it can go without drawing any police attention. She meanders from road to road before catching sight of a massive mall complex.

_Nothing better to do,_ she thinks as she pulls in. It gives her a place to blend in and to mindlessly wander and work off energy while she thinks. As she moves past the glass windows and colorful displays, she can't decide whether to be elated or depressed that so many have already returned to consumerism and laughter and getting on with everything, as though it never happened.

Then she feels a slight tug on her purse and with her honed reflexes whips around to catch a wrist in a vice-grip. The girl the wrist belongs to, an exotic looking girl with short, spiked hair and huge earrings who's sporting day-glo clothing, looks at her with wide and worried eyes.

"Crap."

"What do you think you're doing?" Sandra demands, finally finding a source to vent her pent up frustration at.

~*~


	7. No Sense Crying

~*~

"Lady, I'm sorry," the girl blurts, but Sandra is incensed. "Look, could we just forget this?" She pulls but the blond woman won't let go. "Please lady, you don't understand. I'm really going to get into trouble if you do this."

"You tried to take my purse!" Sandra stares her down like she can't believe it.

"Let _go_," the girl begs. "I don't want to have to do anything."

"You'll do something! You'll come with me to the security desk to explain..."

There's a sudden barrage of multi-colored lights in front of her and when her vision clears, Sandra realizes that she's let go of the girl's wrist. She's making a break for it down the mall corridor, but Sandra has been waiting for something like this and gladly gives chase. The girl is wearing a bright yellow jacket that makes her easy to spot, and it strikes Sandra what a stupid color choice yellow is for anybody hoping to sneak up on people or generally not make themselves a target.

Ahead of her the girl puffs and glances behind her to see that she's still being followed. She runs with a sudden burst of speed and there's another flash of lights that makes Sandra stumble. People are screaming and pointing now, mostly at the girl. Her pace grows more erratic as she comes to the end and wavers back and forth on which direction she wants to go, giving Sandra time to catch up. She stays ahead of her but only barely and her panic sends her into a clothing store where she's cornered.

As the rest of the customers and attendants rush out, Sandra walks in and follows the path of fallen clothing to where the girl is hiding, inside a dressing room. She kicks the door down and finds the girl cowering in a corner, her face streaked with mascara that her tears have caused to run. She holds up her hand in front of her and Sandra can see little pafs of fireworks sparkling on the tips of her fingers. A chill slide sitself around her heart and she wonders if this throwback to her days as a mask was the smartest course to take.

"Don't come any closer," the girl sobs, "or I'll hurt you. I don't wanna, but I'm not gonna get taken in and put in some some camp. You got that?"

Sandra holds up her hands. "You know security will probably be here soon."

"Then let me go and I'll be gone." She wipes her face with the sleeve of her jacket, making a long black stripe against the yellow. "Okay?"

Sandra's mouth feels dry, but she's not done yet. "Why?"

"I needed to eat, okay?" The girl twists her head like she's listening. "Easy way or hard way?"

Maybe it's the restlessness and frustration that's been building in her or maybe it's something to do with Dan or maybe it's just the black on yellow that makes her think of herself. But instead of fighting, Sandra holds out her hand. "I'll get you out of here." The girl looks at her like it's a trick, so she adds a little. "And I'll get you something to eat. Okay?"

Still sniffing, the girl accepts and they make their way out a back door before the rent-a-cops get up the courage to come inside. Sandra is pulling out of the parking lot while they're searching the store, putting distance between them before they even realize the girl is gone.

"So what's your name, kid?"

"Jubilation Lee." She's already digging in the backpack she managed to keep with her, pulling out fresh mascara when she finds it. "My parents were first generation, okay?" She says defensively.

"That's a nice name. What would you like to eat?"

"Anything but pretzels, Orange Julius and Panda Garden. I've been eating that stuff for weeks."

"You've been living in the mall?"

"Nowhere else to go," she shrugs. "I like malls. They're exciting, full of people, shopping, food courts. I hid out in one after the blast and kept going mall to mall when I could get bus fare."

"Stealing to live?" Sandra can't keep the words from sounding like an accusation.

"No!" The girl hugs her bag to her chest. "You were my first. Mostly I've been dumpster diving, grabbing up people's leftovers, but that was getting gross. I used to put on light shows and get tips after I found out about my... you know. But I stopped when they started talking about putting us away." She looks up at Sandra in alarm. "You're not gonna take me to a center or something, are you?"

"I don't even know what you're talking about," Sandra says, shifting lanes.

"Some of the kids I know who ended up like me after the blast, about two malls back, were gossiping." She picks at her nails. "They said that Adrian Veidt was talking about sickness and curse and then some guy from Europe said it was like Nazis and there were gonna come and put us all in a camp. And first we thought it was exaggeration, you know? Just rumors. And then the ones who looked different started disappearing, like the ones who got fur or spikes and stuff. Some people said they were taking to the sewers because people were attacking them but other people thought that the camp thing was true. And then this kid with white hair came around saying all this stuff about Veidt, with pictures and everything of this place he's building out in some desert."

Sandra's mouth hangs open. "I hadn't heard about that."

"It really started picking up after the Dazzler interview. People kept saying that heroes were going to come back and some of us thought it was exciting and some of us were scared, but all the people outside the cities started getting angry, like anybody who lived might have changed and attack them at any moment. I even heard that people who left to be with family got locked out. Heard lots of stuff. Don't know what's true and what's not but it's all stupid and bogus."

Sandra pulls into a burger joint and stays in the car for a moment after she parks it. "So where did all your friends go?"

"No idea," she shrugs, trying hard to play it casual and keep the tears back. "A bunch of them had this weird thing about the north and New York or Connecticut or something. We all went in different directions." She slams the door. "Hope I see them again."

"I hope you do too." Sandra holds the door open for her as they walk inside. "Order anything you like, okay? My treat."

"Hope you don't regret it, lady." She gives her a weird look. "What's your name anyway?"

Sandra looks at her like she's said something completely bizarre.

"My name is Laurie," she finally tells her.

~*~

"MAN OVERBOARD!" Men are screaming and scuttling over the water-drenched deck. The driving rains make it impossible to see and the rest of the men can barely keep their balance, let alone through out lines for their fallen compatriot. They stay for as long as they can, but it's ages before they can look below them and by then the man is long gone.

"Who did we lose?" The captain asks gravely.

"McKenzie," another crewman tells him. "We didn't even catch sight of him after he went over."

"Did he have any family?"

The other man shakes his head. "None that we know of."

"At least we don't have that burden," he sighs. "You know he was a port in New York when the blasts went off?"

"Really?" The man's eyebrows go up. "He didn't say anything."

"Imagine, living through something like that to get caught outside in a storm like this." The captain quickly crosses himself. "Hope he's a peace, wherever he is."

Hundreds of feet below the surface, he is learning that he no longer needs oxygen to breathe.

~*~

"Curtis?" The portly man shakes his friend. "Curtis, are you awake?"

"Unh..." the man groans and tries to sit up, almost following over when he tries to support himself on a side that no longer has an arm. "Was I out again? Did I change?"

"Yes," the other man tells him with reluctance. "But don't worry. I was able to restrain you." Behind him, four metal arms wave around. "You didn't ruin anything."

"I'm sorry." He looks down. "Have you found anything out?"

"I think by now it's safe to assume that our wives are dead," he says mournfully. "Do you want me to sedate you again?"

"We don't have a choice, do we? Until I can get these transformations under control, I'm a danger to myself and anybody around me. And if I change and attack somebody, they'll find you as well. I'm worried enough about what will happen when they start to tear down and repair this part of the city. We don't need to expose ourselves any sooner than necessary."

"I don't want to do this, you know that."

"I know you don't have a choice, Otto." He rolls up the sleeve of his cauterized stump. "But this isn't a long term solution. We need to find more medical supplies, find a way to control or cure this and get those things off of you. And we're getting low on sedative too aren't we?"

"I'll go out again tonight," Otto promises. "I know where an old Veidt biolab is. If they haven't cleaned it up already, it will give us what we need and might even give us a few hints about what we can do to repair whatever damage has been done." One of the tentacles picks up a needle and it hovers above the other man's arm. "Are you ready for this?"

"Go ahead."

The tentacle pushes in the needle and injects the full dose. The other three tentacles prop the man up as he goes slack and lay him out on the makeshift bed of salvaged cushions they've been using. "Sleep well," he whispers before going out to look for a solution.

~*~

"What a dumbass!" The car cuts over four lanes of traffic and the man in the passenger seat grabs the side of the door, hoping to keep down his lunch. "He gave you everything? The advance and all?"

"Yes, with a promise for full payment afterward."

'He bought it! All that shit about being more dangerous, he bought it?"

"Yes sir." The air rings out with honks as he swerves to avoid a truck. "But I do wish you would be more careful."

"Quit your worrying. I'm a regenerator now, Bob! We got this shit made in the shade."

"You are, but I'm not!" He squeaks.

"Aw, don't get your panties in a bunch. Here, we'll turn on the radio. You like music right?" He jabs at the radio and turns the volume dial as far as it will go, making the drivers around them glare through their windows. "Listen to that bass pump!_ Ain't no sound but the sound of his feet, machine guns ready to go!"_

"Sir, you just cut off that semi!"

_"Are you ready, are you ready for this, are you hanging on the edge of your seat!" _

"Sir!"

"Stop your whining!" He laughs. "Enjoy the ride!" With the road in front of him clear, he floors the gas pedal and they shoot forward. "We've got Veidt in our pocket and if there's as many of these muties as I think there's gonna be, we're gonna be taking him for all he's worth for a long, long time to come. This is the beginning of a whole new life for us, Bobby, starting off with tracking down Sparkles and exercising my decapitation muscles. Might be a long way, though."

Another swerve and Bob rolls down his window to vomit. "Looking forward to it, sir."

~*~

"Pietro! You're back!" Wanda runs to her brother, helps him sit down and gets him a glass of water. "Was there any trouble? Did people listen?"

"Our message is getting through," he pants and gulps. "With a little help from Veidt himself. Have you and father had successes here?"

She nods. "The crowds grow larger every day. Father feels that we'll soon be able to get a base, start forming a team in earnest." She stands up and looks out the window. "There's something else too."

"That is?"

"The blue one. The American god. He's coming. I would bet on it. I can almost feel it." She turns. "And when he does, he'll come for _me_."

~*~


	8. Prefer to Stay Inside

~*~

By the time the webbing dissolves off of Daniel's hands and mouth, the pizza has gone cold and Peter and Kitty have shuffled off to sleep, despite the fact that it's early in the morning and the sky has already started growing light. Though their discussions and antics kept them up all night, Harry seems unaffected and watches Daniel with undisguised malice while working his way through a six pack of Miller.

"Aren't you a little young to be drinking?" Daniel asks between chews.

"Aren't you a little not-my-father to give a shit?" Harry props his feet up on the table and keeps drinking. "Since you're going to stay here, you're shaving that porno-stache. You look like a hoser. And as soon as that stupid blond color grows out you're losing that too."

"I'll be recognized," he weakly protests.

"Inside the house? Not hardly. Nobody here to recognize you." Harry finishes off the beer. "You want to hide? Put your mask back on."

Daniel sighs; it is too early and, after everything that's happened, he's too tired to argue with the boy. He drops the remaining crust into the trash and looks wearily at Harry. "Look, I'm tired and could use a little sleep. Can I have my own bed back at least?"

"Kitty's sleeping in it. You get the couch." Harry cracks open the last beer. "And if you try to escape while we're sleeping, I will hunt you down and break every limb you've got, no matter what Kitty and Pete say."

His posturing is almost laughable, the testosterone fueled, hollow claims of a boy. But his eyes dance with orange sparks and Dan remembers the massive, terrifying creature his flesh can twist him into, the beast that had no hesitance in breaking the heads of thugs with knives. Dan sits docilely and washes the leftovers down with a glass of water, until Harry's head pokes back into the room.

"And don't think of looking for the diary either."

He leaves again, this time for good, and Daniel's exhaustion makes him nearly collapse onto the table. There's too much happening, all at once, and he can process it all, one revelation after another punching him in the gut harder than any criminal ever did. He curls up on the couch and tries to ignore any sounds from upstairs that sound like nightmare cries or sobs.

~*~

"Ms. Jupiter?" The nurse, a clean cut brunette with perfectly in place makeup knocks at the door and addresses Sally the way she's asked to be addressed. "There's a couple saying they want to visit you."

"A couple?" She sits up and adjusts her robe.

"Yes. Two blond people." She looks nervous. "Should I show them in?"

"Yes!" She grins. She knew that Laurie would find Daniel – or that Sandra would find Sam, she needs to remember that – and they would come back and the rest of their visit would be just lovely before they went off to find new lives.

But when the girl returns a few moments later, the couple she brings with her is not Sam and Sandra Hollis. Sally has never seen these two before in her life, and her mouth hangs open, unsure why they are there or what they want. The blond girl stands back, aloof, but the man pushes forwards and grasps her hand, falling to one knee so that he's level with her and smiling like he's in a toothpaste commercial.

"Miss Jupiter," he breathes. "You don't know what an honor this is." He fans himself a little with one hand. "I'm sorry, you're just so… I have admired you forever!" He sounds like he's about to squeal or cry or both. Over in the corner, a smile flickers across the face of the blond girl at his overenthusiastic greeting.

"Who are you?" Sally asks blankly.

He stands up proudly. "Blaire Allison was my birth name. But when I'm in the city, I'm Allison Blaire." He closes his eyes and begins to glow, airy strobes flashing over ever surface of the room. "And when I'm doing my job, they call me Dazzler."

Sally's mouth hangs open for just a second before she rises ably to the occasion. "I'm flattered! You clean up so well, I didn't even suspect! And who's your friend? Oh, and would you like something to eat? I don't know where my manners are, here, I'll ring the girl and have her bring us some coffee and cakes."

They pull up chairs and seat themselves around Sally to discuss anything and everything, telling her about their trips to the city and how they got where they were, the feeling of finally having power and using it, and the cosmetic products that they like and how they keep their hair in order while on patrol. Sally beams with pleasure to find herself once again a center of admiration and attention.

~*~

Victor mingles with the crowd, some of their mutations obvious and others less so. The man at the head of the crowd is, by now, in high dudgeon, throwing his arms about and shouting to the throng gathered before him. Victor can already tell that he is preaching to the choir; nearly every statement he makes is met with cheers and, when they're not bellowing assent, the crowd sits rapt to listen.

"We are not a disease to be cured! We are not a disability, we are not something to be ashamed of!" The crowds assent echoes in the square. "Would you be taken away? Dragged off and drugged? Wouldn't you rather fight?"

Looking at his face, Victor can tell that this man is rapidly getting used to having his way, leading the crowd where he wants to take them with words alone. But he needs to know if words are all he has, dramatic statements and assurances that could easily be offered by others, or whether there's something more.

"My friends, we have been given an opportunity. The world is in shambles – but we are the ones with the ability to rebuild it, to make it new and whole again without the weakness of humanity that threatened to tear it apart! We have become the next step and we have a chance to start over. We do not need them!"

Conveniently overlooking that it was the world's formerly sole superhuman who threw them all into this mess, Victor notices. He lets his voice rise with the rest to blend in, still watching to see what would happen.

"If you are not afraid, then stand with me! Stand with your brethren and we shall inherit the earth! Already weaklings like Veidt, men of the old order who fear us, are beginning to clamor for our lives, positing It as a cure. But I know my friends!" Here he sticks out his hand, making faint blue numbers clear to those closest. "I know what comes of solutions like that. Camps! Experimentation! Horrors beyond your reckoning! But what more would you expect from a man with a past like his?" He shakes his head. "I shall not permit it!"

His arms stretch out and all around the crowd, gates and signs groan. The metal posts tear out of the ground and hover high above the heads of the crowd gathered below. Then they speed back to the earth like so many javelins, falling behind him and framing him with a wall of metal. Victor feigns amazement with the others around him, but frowns inwardly. The man barely has to concentrate to move such massive amounts of metal. He doesn't even seem to be fatigued. He is strong, then, Victor realizes, as well as charismatic.

Not a good combination to be a right-hand man to. Literature is distributed by the man's son and the man – Magneto, he calls himself – flies off at the end, giving directions to an old camp where he was setting up base. It had a morbid kind of symbolism, Victor supposes. But though he accepts the pamphlets, he already knows he will not go there until later.

No, he decides, it would not do hoping to gain power from the inside. Better to meet him as an equal and learn how to deal with their relationship

"We will not be joining him, will we?" Susan reads his face the moment he walks into the room.

"No, darling, we will not. Come, we've been here to long already."

"Where will we go to next?" She goes to the tiny hotel bathroom to gather her toiletries.

"To Latvaria, to claim my birthright." She comes out to find him studying himself in a mirror, making metal slide across and retreat from his features. He turns to her with a cold smile. "It seems that many of the country's leaders were in London for an economic summit at the time of the blast. It works out rather fortuitously, wouldn't you agree?"

Susan nods and suddenly feels more aware than ever of the power that Victor aspires to – the power she will share in, so long as she remains his own.

~*~

Todd Tolensky sits very, very, _very_ still on the bus. He tries to keep his legs together, facing forward and locked in a rigid position, tries to sit up straight so that nobody will have any reason to suspect anything from his posture. His legs still have a few bruises and cuts from the last day before he left. And when he looks out the window, he wonders where exactly he's going and why. It sounds stupid to say that a voice in his head told him to, but there's no better explanation for why he hocked his deadbeat dad's watch, slipped off his wrist while he was passed out on the couch, and bought a ticket for the first bus heading to Connecticut.

Now he's headed towards he doesn't know what. But whatever it is, it has to be better than life in rotten old Jersey, hanging around kids who beat him up even before his muscles went all screwy and he got a tongue like Gene Simmons'.

Across the aisle sitting next to the opposite window is another boy about his age. He has dark hair that reaches almost to his shoulders and sits next to an overstuffed backpack with his foot propped up against the seat, glaring at the conductor each time he passes like he's daring him to say something. Todd sneaks looks at him every now and again and eventually the boy catches him looking.

"Uh, hi." Todd manages a little wave and tries to think of something to say. "You, uh, headin' to Connecticut too?"

"Yeah." The boy crosses his arms. "No business of yours."

"Oh, uh, me too." He fidgets. "Where you getting off?"

"Dunno." He closes his eyes and shrugs. "Wherever I feel like."

"Okay." He looks back out of the window when, to his surprise, the boy talks again.

"Name's Lance. You?"

"What?" He looks back around.

"A name. You got one?"

"Oh! Yeah, I mean, sure I do." He gulps. "I'm Todd."

"Todd. Right. So tell me Todd," he says, setting his backpack on the floor and sliding over a seat, "what is it that you can do?"

"What?" His heart starts ramming the inside of the ribcage.

"Chill, dude. I'm assumin' your like me – stuff happens, you got nowhere to go, then suddenly a trip to Connecticut starts sounding like a real good idea, right?"

"Something like that," he says faintly, trying not to freak out.

"So alright, I'mma level with you. I can cause vibrations. You know? Like earthquakes. Cracks in the ground and everything. What about you?"

"Nothing as cool as that," he mutters. "I can jump. And I, uh, have a tongue." He lets it roll out just a little to make his point. Lance whistles.

"Damn. How long?"

"Coupla feet."

Lance nods his approval and grins at him. "Tell you what, you look like you're buggin' a little right now, so I'll leave ya be. But no worries once we get there, okay? Just chill. We stick together and we'll get where were going."

"Thanks!" Todd brightens a little at having finally found someone whose idea of a fun afternoon isn't making his chin meet the pavement.

"Eh, don't mention it."

Lance goes back to lounging and snoozing and Todd doesn't say anything else, but feels quite a bit better about the trip he's making.

~*~

"Isn't California beautiful, Bob?" Wade puts his hands on his hips and looks at the sun-drenched foliage.

"I guess." He worries his lip with his teeth. "But what are we doing at a retirement village?"

"Havoc, that's what we're doing." He grins. "Gotta keep this exciting for the readers, you know? I mean, nobody's gotten killed in at least a chapter and it's time to pick up the pace a bit."

"Sir? What are you talking about?"

"Never mind, Bob," he sighs. "Just make sure you bring the extra katanas and guns."

~*~


End file.
